


A love poem for those fluent in the floral tongue

by Claus_Lucas



Category: Cookie Run (Video Game)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Vignette, cotton candy level fluff here lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 21:23:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11021874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claus_Lucas/pseuds/Claus_Lucas
Summary: Herb braids flowers into Archer's hair, slides them into his pockets, tucks them behind his ears, places them upon his head as crowns. And each flower has meaning, even if Archer needs someone else to spell it out.





	A love poem for those fluent in the floral tongue

**Author's Note:**

> birthday fic for my pal [KAYLI](https://twitter.com/twink_archer)
> 
> peak self-care is writing about gay cookies

Herb speaks with his actions - not in the bigger picture but the finer print, delicate and precise decisions, which from the outside might seem like mere coincidences amidst chaos. But his true colors bleed through as a lucky strike becomes a recurring event, an intricate component in daily living, the expectation rather than the exception.  
Herb works carefully and deliberately, never hasty enough to give his position away. He is an artist of thin brushes and folded cranes. Always so small and easy to miss, only detectable by those that stop to smell the flowers.  
"Here," Herb says, placing the jar in Archer's hands. It has been filled with fresh water and a modest bouquet, camellias and carnations and a single pine branch.  
Archer has ceased being surprised by such gestures. Though it was not always this way, Herb has done it enough times for Archer to become intimately acquainted. Now, Archer would feel odd leaving without it.  
So, instead of being surprised, he merely inquires for the details.  
"What do I do with this one?"  
Herb places a hand on Archer's shoulder, his arm pressed to Archer's back. Their eyes meet for a moment, but Herb, as always, is the first to pull away.  
"Plant them somewhere warm, near water. Firm, flat ground. Make sure they have enough space to prosper. They are flowers that require careful attention, too."  
"So I should visit them regularly?" Archer asks.  
Craning his head sideways, almost leaning it against Archer’s shoulder but stopping right before they touch, Herb brandishes a smile.  
"I'd like that. If you visited regularly."  
Archer nods.

* * *

To everyone but Archer, it is obvious what Herb has been doing. The sprout that first crossed their fates has flourished into a forest. While Archer was bending down that first time to help Herb transplant that small specimen, Herb could already see a future where it stood tall above them. This has always been his dream: to create such a testament to his prosperity. If anyone bothered to ask, "what is the greatest thing you have accomplished?" Herb would gesture to the garden and the woods beyond it, to every sapling he picked, to each seed he helped spread. But there is something missing from his plan still. He needs someone that will love the valley as much as him.  
Carnations and camellias and a pine branch. A love poem for those fluent in the floral tongue. Archer isn't, but others have taken notice.  
In fact, they had been assuming all the wrong things, just from watching Archer wander around with such elegant flowers pressed to his chest. It was a statement of sorts, though Archer was utterly oblivious to it.  
One need only catch a glimpse of Herb handing Archer roses and assume they are lovers.  
Herb is aware of the reactions of others and feels a tad guilty, as if he were deceiving everyone, conveying a message Archer hasn't approved of. But Herb continues his efforts, trying to block out the gazes of others, trying to focus Archer's attention on what he's missing. The message, after all, has only ever been aimed at him  
"It's hidden in plain sight," Herb says, gesturing to a tiny flower curled amidst much larger leaves.  
Herb is bold enough to grab Archer's face and direct it. It takes Archer another moment, but he soon blinks with wonder.  
"Oh, you're right. It's quite lovely," he says. Archer’s voice, when awestruck, makes Herb sigh. Longing and frustration and slight disappointment, but not defeat.  
"Hard to see things are always lovely. You have to look closely to find them. Then they're yours alone, since no one else bothers," Herb says.  
Herb words are loaded with double meaning, but he’s not particularly worried, since Archer never catches any of it.  
"But wouldn't you want to share such beauty with others?" Archer asks, genuinely puzzled.  
Herb musters an immense grin.  
"Of course. And it’s a special moment - basking in beauty together, _understanding_ it together.”  
Touching the tip of Archer’s chin, Herb nudges his head up again.  
“I'm showing you, aren't I?"

* * *

Jars aren't the only vessels for Herb's flowers. He braids them into Archer's hair. He wraps them around Archer's wrists. He embroiders them into Archer's clothes. He pushes them behind Archer's ears.  
And all of them have meaning.  
This one for peace, this one for success, this one for a good night's rest, this one for enlightenment.  
He chooses carefully, according to what troubles Archer, according to what Herb wishes to accomplish between them. Each time Archer visits, however, Herb makes sure there's an iris in there somewhere. Sometimes in Archer's hand, sometimes in his pocket. Herb slips it in while Archer isn't watching, or perhaps he always notices and simply says nothing.  
Iris is for hope. Herb always has hope.

* * *

Even Sugar Swan has started deciphering the code. She used to giggle at Archer's newfound fashion sense, but eventually she had to inquire as to its origin. When Archer, who speaks frankly and without reservations, recited the whole story, it left quite the impression. Sensing that something of importance is going on, Sugar Swan can’t help but try to nudge her son in the right direction.  
"Have I ever told you what chrysanthemums stand for?"  
Archer shakes his head. He is unfamiliar with the sentimental attributes of flowers.  
Of course, the information he received changed little. The next time he met Herb, he simply relates the fact, detached entirely from the potential implications.  
Genuinely impressed by this, Herb gives him a pat on the back, then drops his hand just close enough to brush against Archer's.  
"From now on, I'll tell you what all of the flowers I give you mean."  
He sounds perfectly confident while saying it, but inside he’s surely shaking.  
Nonetheless, a new level has been breached.

* * *

With time, Archer starts to put together a picture, though he fails to position himself in the midst of it. To him, it simply seems like Herb has been maintaining a theme, coordinating his flowers based on aesthetic and sentimental similarities, not because they say something about his feelings towards their recipient. Archer, after all, still views himself as a mere transporter - the flowers are for the forest, not him.  
That garden, by the way, is prospering. He wishes to show Herb.  
Herb, who is weaving holly around Archer's neck, nods to the invitation. Once he’s done, he takes a step backwards to admire his work.  
Archer closes his eyes. It has become a bit of a game between them, a challenge even. Archer is satisfied when he wins, while Herb dances between terror and pleasure, relief and frustration.  
"Holly means... holly means..." Archer muses, trying to remember.  
Placed on the spot, Herb occasionally takes risks. He, too, is used to getting away with such gestures now.  
Archer opens his eyes when Herb grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together. Reflexively, Archer answers, gripping Herb with considerable strength, though he looks confused. There's no hostility, no unease, no rejection. Just a question waiting to be answered.  
"When you love someone a lot... you invite them into your home," Herb says, slowly, pronouncing each word with an invisible desire. Archer can only detect the anxiety mixed in.  
"To stay," he finishes.  
"Holly symbolizes domestic happiness. A happy home," says Archer.  
Herb immediately releases Archer and walks past him.  
"That's right. Well, let's see this garden, shall we?"

* * *

A desperateness eventually claims control over Herb. He realizes the fragility of his advances and resents himself for lacking the confidence to be more direct. He can hardly blame Archer for being so oblivious, when he himself would probably be the same if placed in that position. Herb can only scold himself, turning over in his mind how much he has done and yet how little progress has been made by it.  
The road to the forest always seems long, Dessert Paradise being so far away from the City of Wizards, but time passes so quickly when he travels with Archer, almost too short, in fact.  
He wishes their relationship could be like that - a long and winding path with a quick resolution. But while Archer can always guides Herb in the right direction, Herb can't do the same for Archer.  
"No flowers today?" Archer asks, almost forgetting, but fortunately he stops while on his way out.  
Herb bites his tongue, then mumbles, "n, no."  
The stutter is like raising a red flag, setting an alarm off.  
Archer takes a step towards him, concern covering his face. Herb tells himself that it's nothing special, he can ward this off easily.  
"I... haven't thought of what to give you next," Herb says, aware of how silly that sounds, how utterly unbelievable.  
In an attempt to seem more assuring, Herb looks Archer in the face, though his eyes are too piercing so he settles on Archer's forehead instead. The veridian gem glistens even without sunlight.  
"The garden is so big already. I don't know what I could possibly add."  
That sounds a lot better. Archer, at least, is satisfied.  
"You mean it's perfect?" he asks.  
Herb is playing with his fingers now, suppressing his nerves.  
"It's never needed anything. You already take perfect care of everything."  
They're both graced with a rare and spectacular smile. Archer wears it with pride, pleasure, and gratitude. He doesn't need to say anything for Herb to know he's made him happy.  
"That is part of my purpose," says Archer.  
Herb would love to preserve that expression for as long as possible, but he risks not a moment further. Taking a flower from his dining table and tucking it into Archer's shirt, he quickly pushes Archer towards the door.  
"Here you go, a tulip for your troubles. Now be on your way. You've got a lot to keep you busy I'm sure," Herb bables. Laughter has started to bubble from his throat, but by the time the door shuts behind Archer, he has stopped, abruptly. He places a hand on his face, still holding the door with the other, and realizes he's crying.  
Archer, who has more he wishes to say, tries to address Herb through the door.  
"B, but of course I enjoy visiting you - it's no trouble at all - I mean, even if I was really busy - I’d still - want to -”  
He stumbles all over his words, uncertain of what he wants to convey. If anything, he at least wants to say it to Herb directly. Being thrown out like this is new and surprisingly frustrating.  
"You..." Archer mumbles. He holds the flower in his hands, turning it over and remembering something his mother said.  
Herb is holding his face so his crying won't get out of control. With his breath held, he listens.  
"...have a wonderful smile, too," Archer finishes.  
"Be seeing you around! Goodbye now!" Herb calls out, unable to accept the compliment. His voice is hoarse and it cracks.  
Archer wonders what he did wrong.

* * *

"I want to bring him a gift this time," Archer says, seated on the bank of the river where Sugar Swan makes her home. His feet are splashing softly in the water but his gaze is elsewhere, lost amidst the foliage he knows so well, yet feels unfamiliar somehow now, as if the whole forest has changed while he slept. Or perhaps he was the one to change.  
"In exchange for all the flowers? Or because you have something special to say?" Sugar Swan inquires.  
"Is 'thank you' not special enough?" Archer shoots back.  
Sugar Swan speaks with utmost tenderness.  
"Of course, honey. I understand your feelings."  
Archer looks up to her for the first time since their conversation started, and there is ripple of worry between them. It pains Sugar Swan to see her son this way.  
"Then help me. Please."  
Sugar Swan considers her position, her understanding of the situation, and a sixth sense that can only be attributed to her motherly status.  
She offers Archer one of her wings, onto which Archer gladly climbs.  
"I know exactly the flowers you can give him. These will grow healthy in his garden," Sugar Swan says. The latter is a lie. A white lie, she hopes.  
Of course Archer has no reason to doubt her.

* * *

Viscaria wrapped in rose leaves. Herb almost loses his balance while staring at it, his vision blurring momentarily, trying to take in colors and shapes and quickly becoming overwhelmed by the scope of them. Hoping to not make a fool of himself - or, worse, reveal why exactly he's being so affected by this -, Herb reaches out to accept the gift, but instead clasps his hands around Archer's, creating an awkward position.  
Archer, however, seems unbothered. His smile remains in place and his eyes fixed on Herb. Herb tells his body to let go and take them properly, but his hands simply won't obey.  
After a handful of painful moments, Herb stutters, "y, yes."  
"Yes?" Archer asks.  
Herb, realizing what he's done, tries to back out, but he can't come up with a good enough explanation. So he pushes forward.  
"Yes. I'll, I'll dance. We can dance. You want to dance, right?"  
At this, Herb glances up at Archer. Archer appears puzzled but there's curiosity burrowed in there - intrigue.  
"I've never danced before," he admits, a bit embarrassed about the fact.  
Chugging full steam ahead, Herb utters, "I, I'll teach you then!"

* * *

The rose leaves are supposed to symbolize hope - specifically, that hope should be nurtured. The viscaria, as Herb properly interpreted, asks for a dance.  
Archer did not request an explanation from his mother when she handed him these plants. He tries to explain to Herb that they'll do well in his garden, but Herb is too anxious by then to process such information. He thought - and what an idealistic thought it was - that Archer had finally caught onto Herb's game and was reciprocating. How perfect that would've been.  
Now Herb feels like an utter fool. Of course Archer didn't. Of course it’s just coincidences amidst chaos, Herb prescribing meaning where there’s nothing.  
After their attempt at dancing, which involved more blundering than smooth sailing, Herb sits down in a chair and exhales a deep breath. He isn't sure if he should be exasperated at himself or Archer. This mess is entirely his own fault, but Herb still wants to believe that he can somehow attach part of it to Archer. If only some of it _were_ of his orchestrating. If only Archer _was_ reciprocating.  
If not Herb's romantic affection, then something else. A friendship. An appreciation for the other's company. A simple 'thank you.'  
Archer misinterprets Herb's unhappiness.  
"I think... you'll have to teach me some more. Or I will ask someone else to teach me, if I have frustrated you enough. Forgive me for my inexperience," Archer says, placing his fist over his heart to show humility. Herb looks at him with sadness.  
"That's not the problem, you know. I'm no good at dancing, either. Half our mistakes were because I couldn't guide you properly in the first place."  
Archer is surprised but unsure how to respond. He raises an eyebrow.  
Herb smiles, but it's not with pleasure, and both can tell.  
"Did you pick those flowers because they're pretty?" Herb asks, gesturing to the viscaria.  
Archer is about to confirm, but he's struck by the phrasing of Herb's question, as well as the tone of voice. Some aspect of this situation has unsettled him.  
"Those,” Archer says, taking a deep breath and straightening himself, "are to express my gratitude."  
"Gratitude for what?" Herb asks.  
Herb surprises himself by standing up, eliminating the space between them with a single stride. It used to feel like such an unbreachable distance, but here he is, suddenly and without a clear plan, yet unwilling to retreat. He still expects nothing, but now, unlike before, he feels he has nothing left to lose, either.  
So, as people that have nothing left to lose tend to do - as people that have already been rejected do -, Herb takes what he can, before everything is gone.  
He chooses a flower - at random, he thinks, but when he sees it tucked behind Archer's ear, he registers its identity and can't hold his grief. Anemone for a forsaken love.  
Shaking his head, and dripping a couple of tears in the process, Herb grabs Archer's face, pretending that he's still fixing the flower, while Archer's mouth opens wide and an unfamiliar terror bursts in his chest. He feels it pushing out, as if aiming to break him. It’s paralyzing, but he feels a drive to defeat it - to eradicate the trigger, if he can only locate it.  
Finally, Herb has had enough being coy and throws his arms around Archer, embracing him. Not much, but not nothing, either.  
He knows he owes Archer an explanation, but he's unwilling to let this end so quickly. So, without breaking their hug, Herb says, "the garden's done I think. You don't have to visit anymore. I don't think I'll visit, either. Such beauty, beyond my reach, just makes me jealous."  
Archer acts without thinking. In that department, he is the opposite of Herb - he is not meticulous and he is not subtle. His words are loud and his actions louder. When a message must be delivered, he knows only how to do it directly. One more thing - he always follows his heart, regardless of the risks involved.  
Suddenly hoisted into the air, Herb yells, but the sight of Archer's face silences him, marvelling at how the light of the sun frames his head as if bestowing him with a halo. He is, after all, the guardian of an island.  
"I'll take you then. Even if you don't want to, I'll - please? Can you just please visit? It doesn’t have to be often. But every now and then. I look after the forest but I don't know how to raise it. If something goes wrong, who will help? You've given me these plants, now you have to see through to their independence."  
That's the most words Archer has said to Herb in a single breath. Herb is floored.  
"See... see this through?" Herb says, more to himself than Archer, "see... this through..."  
Equally overwhelmed by anxiety and delight, Herb starts crackling.  
Archer, still baffled, finds himself charmed by not only Herb’s laughter but how he hiccups and snorts.  
"You're right! You're absolutely right!" Herb shouts, surrendering whatever composure he’d held onto. He’s in Archer’s arms now - not even in his wildest fantasies did he envision such a scenario. There is no protocol for this.  
"Oh, Archer," Herb whispers, refraining from controlling his tone, allowing himself to sound rightfully in love. "I love you."

* * *

"Oh? You just started dating?" Moonlight asks, crossing one leg over the other and shooting Sea Fairy a disbelieving look.  
Sea Fairy, in turn, returns her gaze to Archer and Herb.  
"We find that exceedingly hard to swallow," she says.  
"Yeah - like," Moonlight adds, gesturing vaguely with her hands, "what about all the hair braiding? The new clothes? Herb's been placing roses in your quiver for weeks! What do you mean you _just_ started dating?"  
Archer looks down at his hand, which is currently gripping Herb's.  
"I... thought those had fallen in. On their own," he says.  
Herb's face flushes but he offers no contribution.  
"What!" Moonlight shouts. "Okay, but he was giving you bouquets like every day, wasn't he? Surely a guy doesn't just hand you half a dozen carnations and you don't assume he's at least a _little_ into you?"  
Moonlight looks between both boys, then back at her girlfriend. She throws her head into her hands.  
"Hopeless! I've never met someone so hopeless! See, Sea Fairy? We should've tutored Archer a little more when we found him! We completely neglected romance!"  
"I mean, how were we supposed to know that he’d fall in love within the first year of his existence? We can't see the future," Sea Fairy retorts.  
"A, anyway," Herb says, "we just wanted you to know - so you could - well if you'd be interested - in attending -"  
"Are you getting married?" Moonlight bellows, looking up at him with shock.  
"N, no!" Herb corrects her, looking too embarrassed by that proposition to make much more progress in this conversation.  
"We just started dating," Archer reminds her.  
Moonlight spins around in her chair, arms in the air. "Ohhh, but I can just see it now! Your wedding! It's gonna be great. Perfect, in fact. With my help. I'll make sure it's perfect!"  
At this, she stops and aims a finger in their direction, looking utterly ecstatic.  
"We have got to start planning _now_ . You know, Sea Fairy and I got married at the top of the Tower of Frozen Waves! And that was all my planning. What kind of ceremony do you guys want? Will it be in the Dessert Paradise? How many guests? Have you thought about rings?"  
Archer gives up on elaborating any further. They’re both way too embarrassed, and Moonlight can’t be discouraged from this topic anyway.

* * *

When Herb finally makes the formal move from the ruined greenhouse in the City of Wizards to Dessert Paradise - doesn't take him long, really: he's been enamored with the Dessert Paradise for almost as long as with Archer -, Archer has prepared a crown of flowers and feathers for him.  
"The feathers are from my mother, who you'll meet soon - see how soft they are? Pure sugar! Don't be nervous - mom already loves you, honest! She’s heard all about you. In fact, I think she tried to set us up? Oh, and the flowers, well, I don't really have to tell you, right? You'll know the moment you look at them."  
Herb leans over his boyfriend's shoulder, gazing into the river's surface.  
"Oh, come on..." Herb says, trying to sound doubtful, but it’s obvious he’s overjoyed. "You didn't fall in love with me _at first sight_ ."  
Archer kisses him on the ear and says, "no, I did. I was just too dense to realize.  And here's my proof - those lost souls were about ready to finish you off, but I helped saved not only you, but that flower you were trying to transplant, too. I was immediately invested in what you cared about.”  
Herb inhales a deep breath, then grabs Archer's hand, a bit too tightly.  
"So you weren't curious about it! I knew you were staring at me and not the flower, I could feel it the whole time! You just wanted an excuse to make conversation with me!”  
They're laughing the whole way to Sugar Swan.


End file.
